


Episode 8: Warriors Come in Many Forms

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [8]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clan Meso'a, Clone Wars era, First Contact, Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, New Friends, warrior culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 11:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "Prevail or die, those are your options." ~Ba'atukWe have reasons for why we feel the way we do, some are just better at communicating them than others.





	Episode 8: Warriors Come in Many Forms

**Author's Note:**

> Members of Clan Meso'a speak a combination of Basic, Mando'a, and their ancestral language Soah-ra (which consists mostly of a system of commands, like "Naal" which means "see/look", as well as the prefixes and suffixes "na" which means "they/them/theirs", "ta" which means "I/my/mine", and "ra" which means "you/your/yours")

The listening post was a small station equipped to handle personal ships and shuttles from the looks of it. Cara and Aviila traveled down to the main hangar in silence with Ba’atuk still glared at both of them. Her armor was much like Aviila’s, identical aside from the jade comb in her hair. It looked heavier than what her hair could feasible hold up, but Cara kept her mouth so shut her lips hurt.   
Ba’atuk stared down at the outsider. She was scrawny, an easy meal for every predator that lived on their homeworld.   
“What is this?” she hissed to Aviila as the turbolift doors opened and they stepped out on the platform, “What did you bring back?”  
Aviila bristled, but kept her composure, “I can bring back what I please.”   
“And when you please,” the Zabrak fired back.   
Cara’s body was rigid with fear as the two women stared each other down. Just across the way beyond Ba’atuk were two heavily armored guards in orange-and-teal armor complete with pectoral, furs, and enormous helmets with feline motifs. A bright red plume cascaded down the back of the left guard’s helmet; the right’s plume was white save for the tips which were faded and lined with dirt. The golden eyes of the helmets seemed to bore into her, scaring her just as much as the electro staffs both men carried...at least she thought they were men.   
“We mourned your death!” the right guard said in a hoarse, grief filled voice that sounded oddly feminine, “I carried the offerings to your grave!”   
Aviila and Ba’atuk paused their glaring contest.   
“Buir,” Aviila said gently, arms outstretched, “Naal’ta. See me.”   
The woman quickly closed the distance and grasped Aviila’s forearms, “Ta’naal,” she said softly as their foreheads met, “I see.”   
Ba’atuk’s eyes burned as she moved away; her attention turned back to Cara still cowering by Aviila’s side. Confusion and fear were plastered on the human’s face. So far everything they’d said had been in a language Cara didn’t understand. She knew they’d been talking about her for a moment, then they were angry with Aviila, but now one of them wasn’t… the whole exchange was confusing. Slowly, the two pulled apart.   
“Cara,” Aviil said, momentarily startling her charge, “My mother and leader of my home-tribe, Koucitesh, Alor Haria’n.”  
Cara quickly bowed; the older woman laughed, but nodded in appreciation.   
“This,” Aviila made to put her hand on Ba’atuk’s shoulder, but the Zabrak shook it off, “is my sister, Ba’atuk Haria’n, Choxultz’alor. She trains our warriors to be leaders.”   
Cara made to bow again, but thought better of it once she met the fiery eyes again.   
“And this is Haria’n Tavut, my brother,” she gestured to the red-plumed guard.   
He crossed his arms behind his back and lifted his chin. I guess that’s how it’s done here, Cara thought, feeling silly about her bow to Koucitesh. Speaking of which, when Cara looked back to Aviila, she met the eyes of a brown eyed woman with the top half of her face painted black. Long gray curls fell in waves across her pectoral and furs; gentle wrinkles around her mouth winked back at her as she smiled.   
“Do I call you granddaughter?” Koucitesh asked in perfect, albeit accented, Basic.   
Aviila flushed, but shook her head, “We haven’t discussed that.”   
“And why not?” Ba’atuk barked, arms crossed in a way that painfully reminded Cara of Fent.   
“She’s scared,” Aviila hissed, once again in that foreign tongue, “Naal’na! Look at her!”   
“Ta’naal’na!” Ba’atuk shot back, “I see her! She’s weak! A Jiiya could pick its teeth with her!”   
“I wasn’t bringing her back for you!”   
“Then take her to the Chibala and be done with her,” Ba’atuk cut the air with her hand, “If you didn’t know, there’s a war going on!”  
“We’re not part of this war, not yet” Aviila countered, “Garuntha said-”  
“Garuntha is dead!”   
Aviila paused, anger melting away from her face.   
“And yes, sister, we are at war!” 

Jiik helped himself to another cup of caf just as Beon entered the comm tower.   
“Still looking?” he asked, ready to hear another string of excuses.   
“No,” Beon said.   
The old Togruta set his mug on the table and turned around.  
“No?”  
Beon nodded, “I actually came to ask you about something.”  
“Oh?”  
“Fent and I noticed there aren’t any children around.”  
Jiik took a sip and fully turned to face him, leaning back against the table still for support.   
“Alor’s request. All children were sent back to Ordo.”   
“Any reason given?”  
Jiik paused for a moment, letting the steam wash against his face, “Protection, he said. It’s not as safe as it used to be.”  
“A few Jedi are no match for us,” Beon crossed his arms, “That can’t be all.”  
“You’ve been gone a while,” Jiik gestured with his mug, “The Jedi have an army now, a real one, and Seps have been hovering this system lately. They’re getting bold.”   
“Seps don’t steal children. Jedi do.”  
“Maybe, maybe not, but I feel better knowing my grandson will at least get a chance to learn how to hold a blaster before the war really hits us.”   
Beon rolled his eyes, “Tir is twelve.”  
“And he still shoots worse than a blind Wookie!” Jiik cackled between sips.   
The Twi’lek cracked as smile, but kept on point, “We’re not part of the war, Jiik. You told us when Jango went and pissed off-”  
“Ey!” Jiik slammed his mug on the table, cracking it, “You say his name with respect, you hear?”  
Beon narrowed his eyes, “Oh yeah? So where’s he been, huh? Where’s Mandalore now?”  
“I’m telling you, boy,” Jiik jabbed a finger hard into Beon’s chest, “Wherever he is he’s got a plan. He always has a plan.”  
“Is that what he told you before he decided to become a celebrity?”   
“You wish you were half the hunter he is!”   
“I wouldn’t leave my Clan for credits!”  
Jiik’s nostrils flared, his glazed eyes grew dangerously clear, “One more word out of you, one more disrespectful word, and I’ll hang your head from this tower. You’ve got your kama in a bunch because of that Cara bratt, well keep your issues to yourself!”   
The Togruta pushed passed him to the door, then stopped, breathing heavy.   
“War always finds us, it’s in our blood, Beon. You know that.”  
Beon said nothing, unable to keep the frustration from coloring his features.   
Jiik shook his head, ignoring the caf dripping from the cracks in his mug.   
“Forget Jango for a moment,” he said, “Forget Cara, forget the Jedi, forget the Seps. Think about why you do this, why your ba’buir left his cushy life on Coruscant to become mando’ad. You know I knew him, don’t you?”  
Begrudgingly, Beon nodded.   
“He told me he joined because of what he saw during the war. He joined because he met Jaster, he was an arms dealer, you know? Real shady guy, your grandfather,” Jiik went on, still gesturing with the leaky mug, “He was impressed by their comradery, their dedication, and he wanted a part of that. Poor bastard got himself blown up, I mean, he really wasn’t cut out for this, and yet here you are! Your grandmother, bless her heart, had the biggest pair I’ve ever seen. She dusted off his plaster and killed the bloke who killed him!”   
“I know the story,” Beon waved dismissively.   
“Oh yeah?” Jiik raised an eyebrow, “What about your mother? Your father? Ever hear them bad mouth Jango?”  
Beon shook his head.   
“Never talk about your brothers and sisters if you don’t know what got them to where they are,” Jiik said, tapping the mug against Beon’s chest, “Only reason I talk about you is because I know you. I know your heart is in the right place. Your head and your mouth are another story. Fent’s the same way, before you go fussing about him,” he added quickly before Beon could reply, “I know Jango isn’t sitting this one out, and neither are we. War will come to us no matter how neutral the Duchess says we all are. Heck, we don’t follow her command and you don’t see us rushing in guns blazing.”  
“So we’re going to sit back and wait for war to come to us? That can’t be our best plan.”   
“Why not?”  
“That’s not our way. War is our way, but sitting around isn’t. Why else would we send the children away if we’re not going to take an active role?”   
Jiik took a sip only to realize most of the caff was on his boots, “At this point you’re just upset to be upset. Go look for Cara and vent to someone else.”   
“Jiik-”  
He held up a hand, “Nope. This is on you, vod. Find her or don’t bother me about the war. Better yet,” he added as he exited into the hallway, “Don’t bother me at all.”   
“Who was that on the recording last night?” Beon chased after him, not about to let him have the last word, “Who’s Greta?”   
Jiik ignored him and disappeared down the stairs. Beon swore the old man walked a little faster.


End file.
